awnings and through storefront windows held splashes of color, even brighter for their rarity. As they soared above, a few signs of life emerged; an older man wiping ash from the outdoor tables of his cafe with a broom, children drawing patterns of swirls and happy faces in the ashes on the street with sticks. At the sound of Leyra’s wings, they all looked up, mouths agape, and pointed.
Kalai looked over his shoulder. “Things aren’t so bad now, are they?”
Tauran met his eyes and squeezed his hip.
The dragons were all alive. Falka was gone. This was the best they could have hoped for. Right?
“Do you think Sparrow is all right?” Tauran asked.
Kalai searched the streets. They hadn’t seen the boy since the failed execution. “He’s tough,” he replied.
Kalai didn’t ask where they were going. There was something on Tauran’s mind, and Kalai was certain he knew what it was. What he was looking for.
They flew for a while, past the city walls and across the lake, around the plateau and the still smoking Mount Lihia, northward.
A dark shadow on the ground confirmed Kalai’s suspicion. His heart clenched.
A range of cliffs and mountains rose in the distance, a wall between land and sea. Six, maybe seven hours away. Too far to fly for a statera in the thickest haze of toxic fumes. Too far to fly for Valeron.
Kalai’s heart clenched when Leyra roared a call, the sound of her voice carrying across the open plains, but the fallen dragon didn’t answer. He lay halfway on his side with one wing outstretched, head hidden beneath the other.
Tauran landed Leyra a short distance away and slipped from her back. Kalai followed.
Valeron was dead. They both knew it. But Kalai understood that Tauran had to check. Kalai stopped and waited, Tauran continuing to the ash-covered dragon. He dragged Valeron’s wing halfway free from his face. Kalai couldn’t see the dragon’s eye from where he stood, but he watched as Tauran crouched and covered it with a hand.
Kalai looked away. When Tauran came back to him, tears streaked his face.
Kalai brought Tauran into his arms, stroking the back of Tauran’s neck until his shoulders stopped shaking.
He hadn’t known Roric like Tauran had. Hadn’t known Valeron, either. But Tauran and Roric had been on the same side, once. They had worked and fought together. Spent months and years in the Solar Tower together. With more time, Roric might have come to see things differently, like Tauran had. Valeron wouldn’t have had to die.
“Roric isn’t here,” Tauran said. His voice was rough. He raised his head and wiped his face.
“He might still be alive,” Kalai said, softly. “The fumes are toxic to people, but rarely deadly. If he took care, he might have made it.”
“Even if he did, I don’t think he’s coming back.” Tauran gazed to the mountains.
Kalai didn’t know what to say. After a moment, he took Tauran’s hand. “I’m sorry. I know you were close, once.”
“Once,” Tauran said.
They returned to Leyra. She cooed nervously, glancing toward Valeron’s too-still body. Kalai could feel Tauran’s desire to leave. Kalai shared the feeling. They settled on Leyra’s back and let her carry them up and away. They would have to send a team to handle Valeron’s body. Kalai supposed it would have been the sky general’s job to organize it. Now the Sky Guard was without a general. It would have to wait.
“What do you think happened to Falka?” Kalai asked. He raked his gaze over the flat expanse of land. Here and there, silverhorn hoof prints broke the even gray surface below. Nature would shake off the dust soon enough.
“I don’t know,” Tauran said. “I haven’t seen any signs of Excellor out here.”
“He’s a large dragon. Maybe he survived the fumes.”
“Maybe.”
Kalai wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wanted Excellor to be all right, just like he wanted every dragon to be all right. But the thought of Falka alive somewhere out there sent shivers down his spine. Would they have to live the rest of their lives behind locked doors and windows, fearing for their safety? Fearing retaliation? As much as he hated Falka for what he had done, he couldn’t wish the man dead. It wasn’t in him.
“A part of me misses him. Falka.” Tauran sounded uncertain. He pressed his forehead against the back of Kalai's neck. “Is that wrong?”
“No.” Kalai reached behind himself, grazed Tauran's hip and held on, squeezing. “He was your family. It's okay that it hurts.”